Chasing Dreams
by mythirdeye
Summary: Lex and Chloe and their thoughts on each other - chapter eight
1. Chasing Dreams

It's a busy evening at the coffee shop.  
  
From my viewpoint in this red chair in an inconspicuous corner of the cafe, everything looks normal. Or maybe that's just ridiculous because in actual fact, everything is normal, so let me promptly amend that with this obvious fact: it's me that's abnormal. But from this quiet corner, sitting alone because my good friend Clark has once again ditched my company in favor of the lovely Lana Lang who happens to be without her jock boyfriend tonight, I'm almost invisible. Everyone's wrapped up in their own social lives, and I feel almost normal.  
  
Do you ever wonder if everyone has an ulterior motive for anything? Let's take a simple evening having coffee at a coffee shop. Are you there for their cappuccinos or the fact that it's where half of the young people in town assemble? Are you there to meet your friends or are you there to be seen?  
  
I was sixteen once, although it feels like light years ago. I remember the peer pressure and the shit you have to go through to be liked and accepted, even respected. But it's the same thing over and over again: there's always one hang-out place where everyone goes to. And for some reason, you will always be drawn to it. To join the camaderie of joy and laughter with friends. Even if you have none.  
  
Believe me, it doesn't change. From sixteen to twenty-one, it doesn't change.  
  
Only thing that changed for me is the venue. In Smallville, I don't even have to try. I'm seen everywhere. At the coffee shop, in my office, strolling the streets, touring the plant, in your homes and in your nightmares.  
  
And yet I sit here in the busiest place in town and hope to be invisible. Invisible in my black suit and bald head.  
  
Why?  
  
Everyone has an ulterior motive, whether they're aware of it or not is their problem. My certain ulterior motive is a big enough reason for me to come here, all the way from a God awful Board Meeting during a God awful day in a God awful place with God awful people. I have all the discomforts of a shitty long day taking its toll on my neck and my spine.  
  
And believe me, I don't need coffee, I need a shower. I don't need a red couch, I need a bed. I don't need to sit here, I need to sleep.  
  
It's 9:30 p.m. on a Friday night and I'd rather be anywhere but here.  
  
The pathetic millionaire with no one to talk to.  
  
But then I see her walk in and everything changes.  
  
My Ulterior Motive comes to the cofee shop every Friday evening at half past nine, always after she finishes up her paste-ups or whatever they call it for her prized newspaper, The Torch. The only thing she seems to talk of with pride. She would come in, her face tired but satisfied and her blue eyes would automatically scan the area for a tall dark haired boy wonder by the name of Clark Kent, who she would usually find kissing the pert ass that is Lana Lang's. And for a split second, a shadow would pass over her eyes, a shadow of acute disappointment and pain, and then just as fast as it came, it would pass. With a slight toss of her head and a smile glued to her face, she would make it go away. And no one would notice.  
  
But I would. I notice everything about Chloe Sullivan.  
  
I know that she smells of fresh green apples, a smell so tangy and refreshing that closing my eyes and bathing in the scent of it brings me to a fantasy of her in my arms, lazily wrapped around each other on a bright day, surrounded by those fruits. When she's near me, I can lean forward and catch the subtle whiff of strawberries in her hair, and imagine my face buried in its softness.  
  
I know there's a mole right beneath her collarbone. I know she has an answer for everything. I know she takes no shit from anyone. I know she loves her friends. I know that she doesn't have a lot of friends, and I know that she makes a great effort in showing that she doesn't care. I know she would do anything for those close to her and this is exhibited every day. Sitting back and watching her best friend chase a dream while her own heart breaks.  
  
I know she's in love with Clark.  
  
I know the sound of her laughter, appreciatively loud at particularly good jokes. Not tinkling like the laughter I hear from most girls and women, obliged to further their feminity with little giggles in the presence of men. I know that she's the most real person I could ever meet within a hundred mile radius.  
  
I know she has no feelings for me.  
  
I know her eyes have expressions that cannot be captured by any great artist. I know the quickness of her eyes portray the quickness of her mind and temper, shadowed dark blue in an angry mood, bright and dancing when happy. I know how they flicker when she observes something of interest to her, and I know how observant she is about things around her. But not observant enough to notice that the bald man in black in the corner of the coffee shop has come here from a very long and shitty day, just to watch her, and he would be content in doing that always.  
  
I know that she's quirky and different from everyone else, and I know that she struggles to stay that way.  
  
I know I love her for all things wrong and right about her.  
  
I know that she can never be like Lana Lang, with her perfect features and perfect tragedy, and I know that I don't care.  
  
I know Chloe thinks about that, all the time.  
  
With that in mind, I also know that Clark's a fool.  
  
And so. I sit here every Friday evening at 9:30 p.m., no matter what mood I'm in or where I came from or if I even feel like having goddamn coffee, sitting in a corner with a certainty that she will stroll into the cafe soon. Usually she would join me with no hesitation, if Clark was by my side and Whitney close to Lana's. But I know I intimidate her enough for her to hesitate approaching me when I'm alone, until lost with the realization that she has no one else to sit with, she would tentatively join me, asking for my permission first, as if I will ever say no to her company.  
  
Then I will experience the magic that is Chloe Sullivan, and it will all be worth it.  
  
Even if I have to sit back and watch her chasing a dream while my own heart breaks. 


	2. All Things Alien

Thanks for all the reviews! Hope this doesn't turn out to be a disappointment. I wasn't planning on continuing the story, but due to requests, I decided what the hell.  
  
And since I forgot the last time:  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, all the freaky incidents mentioned are from past episodes of Smallville, etc.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
CHLOE  
  
Once again it's a busy night at The Beanery, ladies and gentlemen.  
  
On a Friday night at 9:30 p.m. where other kids in other parts of this country would be shooting up right now and dancing in Ecstasy frenzied madness on the dance floor, you will find most of the teenage population of Smallville in this little coffee shop. Reason being? Elementary my dear Watson: there's nothing else to do in Smallville.  
  
I'm even surprised that they manage to do at least that.  
  
Smallville, despite the meteorites scattered every ten feet away from each other, is the safest place in town. In your dreams, anyway. Due to my observant nature (and recent findings, attempted murders, mutilation of jock in boiler room, my last dating expedition, etc.) I have come to realize that Smallville is, contrary to everyone's blind eye, not as safe as it seems. If I walked outside right now, I would not be surprised if I see a man/thing with his head under one arm and a leg missing limping towards me and attempt to bite/suck/rip off my head and leg in a quest to replace his own.  
  
But then, I wouldn't worry because Clark would save me.  
  
If he's not too wrapped up in Lana Lang.  
  
Anyway, I digress. Weird things happen in Smallville. Didn't your friend recently freeze himself in the lake? Wasn't there a murderer on the streets killing people with a piano string? Didn't that once-fat chick try to suck the fat out of your body? Didn't your football coach spontaneously burst into flames in the showers? Yeah, explain that away, my good friends. The Denial Defense will not stay up long.  
  
If it wasn't in my nature to be nosy and I didn't have a farm boy around to miraculously save me when I need him to, I would be cowering in a corner of my room right now, with bills of future years of therapy on my father's desk.  
  
Anyway, back to The Beanery.  
  
This is a typical Friday night at The Beanery. You walk in and of course, the first thing you see are the jocks. Very understandable, due to the fact that they're highest on the social ladder (what with being unbeatable and all) and they're all using the same bright yellow and red football jackets. Believe me, there is no better way to tell us mortal folks that they are football heroes than wearing those jackets.  
  
Off to the side, and sometimes on their laps, are the cheerleaders. Enough said.  
  
Another scan around the room tells me that Pete Ross is not here.  
  
A quick glance at the Jock Brigade tells me that Whitney Fordman isn't here either. Which, of course, could only mean one thing: Clark is yapping up as much lovely and tragic Lana Lang goodness as he can before the No. 1 jock, Lana Lang's boyfriend, shows up.  
  
And then, Whitney would stroll in, pointedly ignore Clark, and Lana would get all flustered in that cute way which would tell any normal person that she was obviously getting down to some serious flirting with the pretty farm boy. Clark would have that severely disappointed look on his face (there is no hiding anything when it comes to Clark's face). Whitney would try to act all strong and jock-like and pretend to not be bothered by the fact that his pristine girlfriend has been flirting with a guy who looks like he'd be on a billboard in Calvin Klein underwear if he lived in New York instead of Smallville. Oh, the games people play.  
  
But Whitney's not here yet, and like the past two weeks, he might not even show up. Makes me wonder what he's been doing with his time.  
  
So, Clark's with Lana (can't leave the fragile girl alone, God forbid she might break), and if my memory serves me correctly, there would be one other loner aside from my pathetic self at The Beanery tonight. Another quick scan around the room and I locate Mr. Lex Luthor in all his greatness on a red couch, looking very much out of place in his dark suit and bald head, taking the fact that Clark Kent has ditched him once again pretty coolly, if truth be told.  
  
I don't think I'd be that cool about it. Experience tells me that something would break into tiny little splinters, and I highly suspect that 'something' to be my own heart… if truth be told.  
  
Anyway.  
  
This means only one thing: I don't have a soul to drink my coffee with.  
  
And, believe me, that fact is pretty depressing.  
  
When you're the girl with the fur-lined jackets and the blonde hair and the camera in her hand and the laptop over her shoulder, you can feel pretty invisible. The only thing that reminds people of my existence in this high school is my name printed on weekly editions of The Torch, and sometimes that's the only thing that reminds me of my own existence.  
  
So, the same like 9:30 p.m. on every Friday night, after I finish the paste- ups for The Torch, ready to be printed and handed out by Monday morning, I walk into The Beanery, and no one notices.  
  
But why would they? I'm invisible because they choose for me to be invisible. Everyone knows about Chloe Sullivan! Smelling of ink and glue and whatever breed of germ the Torch office collects. The girl who loves all things weird. The girl who pokes her nose where she's not wanted. The Eccentric One, or maybe that's too kind. The Oddball. The Weird Chick.  
  
The resident weird chick of Smallville. Maybe I should put it up in neon lights above my head: 'This Girl Loves All Things Freaky and Alien. Stay Away If You Value Your Normal Lives'.  
  
Contrary to everyone's beliefs, that's not entirely true. There's nothing alien about Clark.  
  
Or Pete. Or my Dad.  
  
Anyway.  
  
So, of course, my unspoken coffee date is once again preoccupied by what I can only describe as a much better-looking distraction, and I am left to my own defenses. I glance at the corner again. Lex Luthor sits by himself, amiable and out of place, entertained by observing how sheep interact with each other, probably content on the fact that he's already above the peer pressure age to be bothered by trivial things like this and that everyone's properly intimidated by him.  
  
Actually, he looks more tired than amiable tonight.  
  
I wonder why he even comes here. There's always a chance that he would wind up sitting alone. But maybe that doesn't bother him.  
  
Then again, the same can be said for me. Why do I come here?  
  
It's the caffeine. Definitely the caffeine.  
  
Still, I feel an ever so slight twinge of resentment at the fact that our social lives are wholly dependent on whether or not Lana Lang decides to show up alone or with company.  
  
So, viewing my options and realizing that I have none, I come to the same conclusion as every Friday. Lex Luthor is the soul I will have coffee with.  
  
That is, if he doesn't mind my company, because he's looking a bit short- tempered at the moment. Then again, doesn't he usually.  
  
Plus, besides Clark's unnatural ease with him, a few Fridays in Mr. Luthor's company isn't enough for anyone to be endeared by his personality, or any less wary of it.  
  
Fighting my usual first seconds of hesitation (yes, Mr. Luthor intimidates all of Smallville, myself included - add the fact that he's my father's boss), I stride purposefully to the corner of The Beanery like a girl on a mission.  
  
Lex Luthor watches me approach him and I almost lose my nerve.  
  
How does he do that? Just look you dead in the eye and reduce you to nothingness.  
  
"All alone tonight, Mr. Luthor?" I greet.  
  
"As usual, I came with Clark," he replies. "As usual, he found someone prettier."  
  
I glance behind me and feign disinterest at the sight of Clark and Lana (don't even ask why I do this). When I turn back I realize I'm still under Lex Luthor's watchful gaze.  
  
"So, seeing as you're alone and I'm alone," I fight for the words. "May I join you?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
And so, I shrug off my discomfort, plop myself down on the couch in front of him, like many other Friday nights before, and smile at him.  
  
And no matter how tired he looks, Lex Luthor would find the energy to smile back at me.  
  
Then we'd sit back in each other's company, drown our sorrows in caffeine, and talk the night away. And I would wonder what it was that made me nervous about him in the first place.  
  
And sometimes, only sometimes, I'd forget that Clark was even there. 


	3. A Very Gallant Thing

Again, many thanks for the reviews!  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters of Smallville, etc.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
LEX  
  
When Chloe drops into the chair opposite mine, I fight the urge not to look at her. For some reason, and it's the same all the time, I start to get a little frazzled.  
  
Nothing pisses me off more than not being in control of myself. I'm a businessman, trained academically and through nail-biting experience. My odious personality, or what you see of it, and my ability to intimidate people is not a talent that I was born with. It's a skill, honed down to perfection, from years and years of insufferable torment.  
  
Poor little rich boy.  
  
Please do not think that because I was born into a family as rich as the Luthors that it comes easier for me. Believe me, it hasn't.  
  
My father is the epitome of tyranny. He believes in only the best and failure is not something he tolerates in his workplace, in his staff, and most importantly, in the very man who would replace his throne at LutherCorp - his own son. So when his son failed to grow hair and turned into an outright freak at an early age, he began his training. If putting a scared little boy through all kinds of insecure ordeals and self-esteem nibbling shit is called training.  
  
So forget my father, I've trained myself personally to ensure that my exterior wall remains intact and foolproof. Not because I want to, but because I don't have a choice. I've always been an outsider, never mind the fact that I have no hair and my boarding school memories are only that of being bullied mercilessly by normal rich snots who never have to work a day of their lives. You either stand up straight or let people get you down, and I will never resort to letting anyone make me feel unimportant. I have enough of that from my own blood, thanks very much.  
  
I have to be tough. It's a survival of the fittest out there, and I am always and will always be the fittest. This is something I've earned, and quite frankly, something that I'm good at.  
  
But I haven't even stopped my own personal training yet. There's still something else that I need. It's a smell in the air and an instinct in my soul.  
  
Greatness.  
  
Even if I have to overthrow my own father to do it.  
  
So being in a situation like this, where a petite blonde can plop into a chair and flash a dazzling smile at me can reduce me to a pile of jelly, disconcerts me…. to say the very least.  
  
Maybe I haven't been trained enough.  
  
I lean back and wait for her to start the conversation. Unlike me, Chloe doesn't like uncomfortable silences. She's never had to sit at dinner in a large room while her father yells at some poor fuck on his cellular phone.  
  
As a matter of fact, Chloe is probably at her best around crowds. She can be cynical all she wants in front of people. I have a feeling that she's her own worst enemy when she's alone, trying to block out never-ending thoughts.  
  
Like me. Yet, I prefer to be alone.  
  
I cannot be bothered to mull over what that says about my character.  
  
"So," she says brightly, all traces of earlier trepidation gone. If Chloe really is intimidated by me, she would never show it. "How's the evening treating you, Mr. Luthor?"  
  
"Lex," I correct but it's futile. Chloe would rather not address me at all than call me by my first name. Probably has something to do with the fact that I am her father's boss. "Fairly well."  
  
"Despite the fact that you've been ditched so early in the evening?" she says, in what started out as a bright manner but ended slightly bitter.  
  
"It really doesn't bother me," I assure her, partly out of honesty, partly because a major chip of Chloe's magic deteriorates when she starts talking about her major hang-up, ten grand to the first correct guess.  
  
"Really," she says, doubtfully.  
  
"Why should it bother me when I have the charming Chloe Sullivan in my company?"  
  
She rolls her eyes at this. "Sarcasm, as always, fits you like an Armani T- shirt." I'm about to object when she continues, "But I suppose it wouldn't bother you. Sometimes I wonder if anything does."  
  
She makes me sound almost inhuman. "Lots of things bother me," I reply, annoyed to find a testy note in my tone of my voice.  
  
"Like?"  
  
You mooning over Clark is a start. "I won't bore you with the details."  
  
"I promise to pretend to stay interested." Seeing that my facial expression has not changed, she rolls her eyes skyward and continues, "Okay, just name one thing that bothers you."  
  
"Fine. You first."  
  
"Screw that, I asked you first."  
  
I'm not about to object, because experience reminds me that the girl is, quite possibly, more stubborn than a mule. One of the many charms of a reporter. Anyway, the answer comes easy to me. "My father."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Interview's over. Your turn."  
  
She scowls at this. Her nose wrinkles up and her eyebrows furrow, and I have this insane urge to reach out and smooth out the crinkles in her brow line.  
  
"Okay. One thing that bothers me. You know there's a lot."  
  
"I guessed."  
  
She thinks about it for while, curled in a ball, finger on her chin, eyes staring a hole in the coffee table in front of her. "Lana Lang."  
  
I expected the answer, but I still feel a pang somewhere.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Interview's over," she says, wryly.  
  
"Point taken."  
  
We lapse into a silence not wholly uncomfortable. She's contemplating her words, and I'm contemplating her. She's gone back to curling up in a little ball, finger on her chin, eyes staring at the coffee table.  
  
"So!" I say loudly, with as much pep as I could possibly muster, which isn't much. But it serves its purpose: it jumps her out of whatever plane of miserable existence she had gotten herself sucked into, which is all I needed. "How's The Torch doing? Riveting as always, I'm sure."  
  
"I try," she says, with a bad attempt at modesty. "Not as riveting as the underground lab work at LutherCorp, I'm sure."  
  
"I'm sure you're sure. It's not as controversial as you think, Chloe."  
  
"Despite the growing number of mutated people we used to call our town folk but are now our resident freaks?"  
  
"Something in the water, perhaps?"  
  
"Or the soil. Wait. Doesn't LutherCorp run a fertilization plant here?"  
  
I smile dryly at her. "Ask your father, Chloe. We're not all evil."  
  
"How would you explain it then?"  
  
"I always thought that you were opting for the meteorite rock theory. Or maybe I flatter myself too much."  
  
"Yeah, you really should look out for that."  
  
"I'll try."  
  
She smiles a bit at this and a lock of her hair strays and flops over one blue eye. Suddenly struck with an impulse to do a very gallant thing, I reach out and tuck the blonde strands behind her ear. They're soft and wispy to the touch.  
  
However, the effects are monstrously evil on my ego. She jerks back from me with a startled look in her eyes.  
  
Way to go, Lex.  
  
"Anyway," she says, somewhat uncomfortably, but thankfully deciding to ignore the whole thing. "Yeah, anyway. I'll give you that. I like the meteorite theory better. More sci-fi, less politics, more interesting."  
  
"You might be the only one."  
  
"Do you blame them?" she says, half-teasing, half-curious.  
  
"I don't blame people. It's a waste of energy."  
  
"So you just go straight to revenge."  
  
"It's a lot more satisfying."  
  
Instead of looking shocked at this comment, as I predicted, she thinks about it. Just a little too hard for my liking. She chews on the corner of her lip and phases out for a moment.  
  
I watch her and patiently wait for her to say something.  
  
"Guess so," she finally says with a shrug.  
  
"Don't follow my advice."  
  
"I didn't realize it was advice," she remarks. I give her a hard stare. "I wasn't intending to follow your 'advice' but thanks for the attempt at keeping me pure and innocent and diverting me away from having a corrupted mind like yours."  
  
"Don't mention it." I lean back in my red couch. "You know I just realized something."  
  
"Do tell."  
  
"You haven't ordered a coffee yet."  
  
She looks surprised at this. "Wow. You're right. And caffeine is usually first and foremost in my mind."  
  
"Must be swept away by the Luthor charm," I smile. She smiles back in a polite way that tells me that it's the Kent charm that sweeps her off her feet and it has nothing to do whatsoever with the Luthors.  
  
"I'll order you a drink," I get up. When turning back to her to ask what she wants, I stop at the stricken look on her face. "What?"  
  
"No! God, no. Sit your royal ass down Luthor and let me get my own drink."  
  
Royal ass. I smirk a bit at this.  
  
I lean forward until my eye is on level with hers and gently say, "I'm being chivalrous. Stop embarrassing me and tell me what you want." I intend to finish this line with an all-famous Lex Luthor smirk, but I'm just beginning to realize that our faces are very close together, and the effect it has on me is somewhat similar to how I picture a human being in the grossest process of mutation. I feel blood flush up my cheeks and a shortness of breath.  
  
Somewhere in the back of my sick mind I'm entertaining another possibility. I could just close the gap right now. Lean in a few inches and kiss her softly on the lips.  
  
Yeah. And face the possibility of her jerking away from me again. Not to mention the fact that the newspapers will have a field day with this. Lex Luthor Kisses Girl In Coffee Shop. Girl Runs Screaming. Yeah. Good one, Lex.  
  
I force the moment away and stand upright again, vexed at myself.  
  
Chloe appears unaffected. I feel light-headed and heady at the very closeness of her, and she doesn't even notice. But why should she? Hardly the six foot three farm boy now am I?  
  
"Chivalry does not exist in Chloeland," she says. "Especially when it comes to rich boys like you."  
  
I give her a half-hearted attempt at a smile. Smiling takes too much energy for me, particularly at this moment.  
  
"Take a plunge, see how the water feels."  
  
She regards me for a moment and I look at anything but her. I'm still feeling flustered and it's bothering the shit out of me. I'd welcome anything to change me back to my normal hateful self, even a trip to the counter to see Clark failing at his chance with Lana again.  
  
"Mocha Latte," she finally decides. "Any hint of poison and I'll sue."  
  
I can't help but smile at this. "You'd be dead before you could do that."  
  
"Dead or mutated?" she challenges.  
  
"I'll definitely let you decide."  
  
"Great. I'll go for mutated. I'd definitely have a story to tell then, what with the hands-on experience and everything." She leans back and stretches her arms above her head and sighs somewhat contentedly. "Lex Luthor getting me a coffee."  
  
"Just don't go around telling everybody."  
  
"I might just do that anyway, because you know what? I don't think you're as bad as you think are."  
  
Ready with a quip, I look at her face and see her grinning up at me, making me lose focus again.  
  
Fuck. I leave to get her a cup of Mocha Latte and myself some peace of mind. 


	4. The Villain and The Nerd

Thanks for the reviews :)  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of Smallville, the story line is mine, I have no association with WB whatsoever and all that cow.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Lex Luthor getting me a cup of coffee.  
  
Lex Luthor. Millionaire, bald wonder, world dominator, Satan worshipper, fast car driver and outsider.  
  
Getting me a cup of coffee.  
  
Feels weird, but that's not the only weird thing going on tonight. How about when he tucked my hair behind my ear? That's not even weird. That's plain strange.  
  
And what was that moment when he leaned forward and looked into my eyes?  
  
Now that was strange. In fact, no, I've got a better word for it. It was….. surreal.  
  
I mentally shake my head. I am obviously just too desperate for any kind of attention tonight, even if it comes in the form of a brooding figure with no hair and too much sarcasm. Wake up and smell the Mocha Latte, Chloe.  
  
I like to think of myself as a levelheaded and smart person (yes, despite the meteorite fascination and the Wall of Weird). And I believe, even at my age, that I at least have a vague concept as to how the world works.  
  
In the world of Smallville, granted that meteorites turn humans into genetically deformed freaks, but being a tiny dot in the world nonetheless, it still goes by the same principles. A football jock will always get the prettiest girl. The nerd will always be in love with the best friend. And the best friend will always be hopelessly in love with the prettiest girl.  
  
Now, normal people (i.e. anyone but me, and maybe Lex Luthor, and probably the mutants) are a lot more optimistic. The source of this evil being: books (particularly the romantic variety), TV shows (particularly the WB variety) and movies (particularly the John Hughes variety). In their world, the football jock will go for the nerd. The nerd will get her best friend. The prettiest girl is a total bitch who no one wants to end up with. The best friend will be with the prettiest girl for about a minute until he realizes that the said girl is a total bitch and therefore realize that the nerd in front of him is his one true love. And the villain will stay locked in his mansion, feeding meteorite pebbles to unsuspecting rats and not associate with pathetic town folk like us.  
  
In my reality, our lives continue in a different physical existence, though basically runs a course the same as the rest of the world. The villain is the hero's best friend. The prettiest girl is kind and lovely and totally justifies the reason why she is indeed the prettiest, and will probably marry the football jock and live happily ever after. The best friend will remain in love with the prettiest girl and the nerd will end up alone and cynical and bitchy to the end of her days.  
  
And sometimes, get stuck in conversation with the villain.  
  
Anyway, it all comes down to one conclusion: men like Lex Luthor do not flirt with girls like me.  
  
Remember that, Chloe Sullivan. That's wisdom.  
  
I glance over at the counter where Lex is talking to Clark (probably advising Clark on more surefire ways to nab Lana, the bastard). When I see him turn around and approach me with my cup of Mocha Latte, I immediately switch from neurotic Chloe mode to cool, calm and nonchalant Chloe mode.  
  
He places the cup in front of me and sits on the red couch he vacated earlier. "Hope you didn't wait long."  
  
The Mocha Latte beams up at me and waves coffee aroma up my nose, kicking my caffeine crisis into overdrive. Forgetting the cool, calm and nonchalant act, I cradle the coffee cup between my hands and take a long sniff. "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou."  
  
"You're welcome," he says then adds conversationally, "You know coffee stunts growth."  
  
Wow. Get me a coffee and top it off with health tips. "Guess I should quit right now before it endangers my life-long ambition of being a supermodel." He doesn't crack a smile. "Coffee is my only evil, so leave it be. Besides you drink coffee."  
  
"I'm past my growing years."  
  
"And you're probably developing some meteorite formula to add inches to the legs."  
  
"If you're implying that I'm short, then you'd be the first one. Besides maybe Clark."  
  
"From this height, Mr. Luthor, nobody's short."  
  
"Then if the formula comes through, you'll be the first I test it on." He stays amused at this pathetic attempt of a joke before continuing, "Besides, we can't all be six foot three, can we?"  
  
The man really is evil.  
  
I'm about to go into an absolutely lethal insult-Lex-Luthor-down-to-his- grave rant when he says, "Do you mind if I ask you something?" Then before I can reply, "Why don't you ever call me by my first name?"  
  
"What, Alexander?" I give myself a mental high-five.  
  
My victory ends when I see him glaring at me, and I answer him with a shrug, even though I know the answer. And contrary to his beliefs (of which I'm sure are his beliefs), it's not because of intimidation or the fact that my father is his boss (although I wouldn't call him Lex to my dad's face).  
  
You meet Lex Luthor and the first thing he says to you after calling him 'Mr. Luthor', is "Call me Lex." And he wouldn't ask you for your name, but he would tell you to call him by his first name. What is that? A way to show the little people that Lex Luthor can be turned from formidable figure to lovable hometown guy? Please.  
  
At the same time, I wonder what it is about Lex Luthor. I don't dislike the guy. In fact, I kind of enjoy our weekly banters. And even though I still think he's pure evil, I've at least justified that he's totally human - if only because Clark deems it so.  
  
And why do I think he's evil, anyway?  
  
"I know you have a reason, " he says.  
  
"And give an evil man like you any form of contentment by giving you an answer? Forget it."  
  
He smiles. "I might resort to torture."  
  
"I might enjoy it," I laugh and stop abruptly.  
  
Let's rewind back to how men like Lex Luthor do not flirt with girls like me and girls like me should not turn into moronic sluts and throw sexual innuendoes at men like Lex Luthor.  
  
"There's a new side of Chloe Sullivan I've never seen before," he remarks.  
  
I take a sip of my Mocha Latte and feign a short attention span. "Hmm, really? Yes, anyway. About coffee stunting growth…."  
  
"I think I might have to go ahead and torture you," he says, a smirk on his face. Of course he wouldn't let it go. He'd probably remind me of it to the end of my days, if he doesn't get summoned back to Hell before then.  
  
I am annoyingly flustered. And to further my mortification, I feel blood rushing up to my cheeks.  
  
But I will put on a brave face to my dying day. "As fascinating as this conversation is, since it's due to temporary insanity on my part, I think we should pursue more interesting subjects."  
  
"Why do we have to change the subject at all?" he says.  
  
"Because you're evil and you are dragging me down the pit holes of Hell with you."  
  
"You brought it up."  
  
"Exactly the point. Temporary insanity. Pay attention, Lex." And then I realize that I just called him Lex.  
  
If he noticed, he's not saying anything. Which is good. I don't think I could have taken Lex Luthor scoring a victory over me.  
  
"Fine," he says, leaning back, and leaving me to start the conversation. Again. The man just cannot be bothered to put himself through the pains of making small talk.  
  
I hate small talk. I think there should be a lot more to a conversation than how the weather is. You learn things about a person from a conversation, and there's always something interesting to learn about in whomever you talk to (yes, even Lana Lang – we all know your parents died tragically, but get over it already). Idle chatter is just a waste of time.  
  
But I'm obliging when it comes to Lex Luthor. I have a feeling that the man is quite possibly more stubborn than I am, and could stay resolutely silent for hours without breaking a sweat. Plus, I hate uncomfortable silences.  
  
"What's your favorite movie?" I ask. God, I really am bad at this.  
  
"Godfather," he replies, without thinking about it.  
  
"Figures. I never thought of you as a Sixteen Candles type person. Mind you, I loved Sixteen Candles."  
  
"Ah yes," he says, nodding his head, as if I just related a theory concerning quantum physics to him that he thoroughly approves of. "John Hughes was a master at making movies that made the young girls swoon."  
  
"Yes, he was," I grin at him. That's a bit of information I never thought I would learn from Lex Luthor: the fact that he indulged in a John Hughes movie once in his life. "Unrealistic though."  
  
He cocks his head to the side and looks at me quizzically. "Unrealistic?" I nod. "I'll bite, why?"  
  
"Well," I start. "Jake Ryan, totally gorgeous male specimen, has Caroline, totally gorgeous female specimen, but somehow or other, for no apparent reason, falls in love with Samantha, totally normal female specimen. And the nerd, I forgot his name but I know it's Anthony Michael Hall, gets Caroline. That is fantasy fiction at its best."  
  
"You don't think it's plausible?" I shake my head. "So you think, in reality, the popular guy would not fall in love with the ordinary girl and the nerd would not have gotten laid by the popular girl."  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"Is that how it is in the Smallville world?"  
  
I nod emphatically. "Classic example: the farm boy, Clark Kent. Loves the popular girl, Lana Lang, who is with the popular boy, Whitney Fordman. And the farm boy, no matter how hard he tries, would not be able to get the popular girl, because in reality, the popular girl will always be with the popular boy. They're two peas in a pod. You can't mess up that kind of science."  
  
"The world has quirks."  
  
"Not in Smallville."  
  
"So in Smallville, in Sixteen Candles logic, who's in love with the farm boy?"  
  
I pause. "I guess it would have to be the nerd."  
  
He's silent, watching me, with no emotion on his face whatsoever.  
  
"And the farm boy wouldn't fall in love with the nerd?"  
  
"No. In reality, no one wakes up and sees who's right in front of them."  
  
"Then maybe the world has another destiny for the nerd."  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"Maybe she deserves better than the farm boy."  
  
I look up at him and he looks at me, and a tense silence falls between us.  
  
We look at each other like that, for what feels like hours, unflinching. And I just cannot, for the life of me, tear myself away from his eyes.  
  
And more disturbing thoughts speak in the back of my twisted mind. What is better than the farm boy? How can there be anything better than the farm boy?  
  
Or am I just not seeing who's right in front of me?  
  
Then rational Chloe comes back to save the day. I am going out of my mind.  
  
Mentally shaking myself, I go back to normal Chloe mode and, for the lack of knowing what to say, flash a grin at him. He manages a semi-smile back, which looks, unless I have gotten temporary insane again, vaguely sad.  
  
"Okay," I say, and decide that maybe its better if I take a break from this weird moment. "I'm just going to go to the ladies room for two seconds." Then got up and quickly walk away from him before he could say another word.  
  
I definitely need to take some time away from this man. He's screwing up my senses. 


	5. Prospects and Hopes

Thank you thank you thank you for the reviews.  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters are not mine, the WB is not mine, Smallville is not mine, Michael Rosenbaum is unfortunately not mine, etc.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
LEX  
  
I watch Chloe's retreating figure until it disappears from my sight, then I allow myself to breathe out a sigh.  
  
I won't be able to define if it's a sigh of relief or frustration, or maybe a little bit of both, although the liberation I feel in breathing when I'm away from her searching eyes tell me that it might be leaning toward the former.  
  
So. Interesting thing.  
  
As opposed to jerking away from me, she decided to up a level and run. Undoubtedly, to wonder if my clever comment was aimed at her. And then after realizing that it was, probably wonder if it was an insult or not.  
  
The girl is amazingly perceptive when it comes to many things, but dense when it comes to herself. Her insecurity makes her blind and doubt her potential. I don't even know why she'd even have to wonder if I have feelings for her. I could list a million reasons why I love her and she probably can't think of a single reason why I should.  
  
Bu here's another consequence to face. Let's say, for argument's sake, that she does have feelings for me. What would happen? Would I be able to revel in our love in the public eye? Have everyone make a mockery of a teenager in a relationship with a rich man? Have Clark Kent's disapproval hanging over us? Not to mention what her father might think.  
  
And let's not even bother getting so optimistic. Who's to say that she would even have feelings for me?  
  
Well there you go, Lex. Find power, win immensely. Find love, lose tragically.  
  
And to think it's usually so easy for me to get women.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
CHLOE  
  
I'm in the bathroom, hiding from Lex Luthor.  
  
I'm practicing the fine art of looking into the mirror, which is something I don't normally do, I assure you. Standing here, palms on the sink, eyes staring ahead, but not registering any image to the brain, unless it's that of a pale man with no hair and an eternal smirk on his face.  
  
There's something very wrong with this picture.  
  
I still hear his words echoing in my mind: Maybe she deserves better than the farm boy.  
  
What the hell was that all about?  
  
For the first time in my life, I'm entertaining a possibility I never dreamed of. A possibility more impossible than the idea of Pete Ross and Clark Kent jumping off a roof and flying.  
  
The possibility that Lex Luthor, millionaire's son, sarcasm extraordinaire with the uncanny ability to make someone feel two inches tall, my dad's boss, has feelings for me.  
  
Me, of all people.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
LEX  
  
I'm beginning to think it's a good thing that Chloe excused herself. I need to collect myself, too.  
  
It's a terribly funny thing, love.  
  
If you gave me a guy to bargain with, I would do it with a blink of an eye. Give me a person to blackmail, it wouldn't take any skin off my back. Give me a woman to lure into bed, not a problem. Put Chloe Sullivan in front of me and tell me to admit my feelings to her and I think I'd run like she did.  
  
Although I did admit my feelings to her in an, albeit extremely, vague manner. Going through the motions was easy enough, but after those words came out of my mouth, I lost the air from my lungs.  
  
Not unlike how I felt some time ago, pulled out of a blue Porsche, limp and drenched on a muddy bank, saved by a farm boy breathing life into me.  
  
I was handicapped then as I was under Chloe's inquisitive eyes. I wasn't able to say anything else or do anything else. Except look at her.  
  
And be content in looking at her always.  
  
There was a flash of realization in her blue eyes that I couldn't ignore, and that made me anxious.  
  
Add to the fact that her abrupt departure was not exactly comforting to the love-struck soul.  
  
I don't think she'd be running if those words came out of Clark Kent's mouth.  
  
Maybe my vague confession is just a coward's way of saying how I really feel. As much as I love her, it has never actually crossed my mind to tell her.  
  
Why? Maybe I don't want to corrupt her.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
CHLOE  
  
Even as I think it, I feel rational Chloe bearing down on me with contradictions, left right and center.  
  
The viability of Lex Luthor having a smidgen of a feeling for me, from uttering one single line, which he probably said just to challenge my theory, now that I come to think about it.  
  
It's laughable. Funny. Hilarious.  
  
IT WAS JUST A COMMENT.  
  
It doesn't necessarily mean anything.  
  
But there's something else there that goes beyond words.  
  
The passion in his eyes and the sadness in his smile.  
  
The fact that, aside from Clark, I may be the only person to see the common smirk on his face soften into a smile.  
  
His watchful gaze intent on my face, every Friday night, as I approach him.  
  
Brushing wayward strands of hair away from my eyes and tucking it behind my ear.  
  
Leaning forward and staring into my eyes.  
  
Getting me a cup of coffee.  
  
Smiling at me.  
  
No. Impossible.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
LEX  
  
No, that's not the reason why.  
  
I think highly enough of Chloe to know that she wouldn't let anyone corrupt her without making them suffer eternally for it.  
  
Maybe the real reason is a lot more selfish than I care to admit.  
  
It's because I know she'll run away from me.  
  
It's because I can never compete with Clark Kent.  
  
Clark Kent. Just look at the boy.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
CHLOE  
  
God, I'm a wreck.  
  
What is this I'm feeling? There's a light bubble in my heart, rushing down to my toes.  
  
I feel kind of… elevated.  
  
In fact, I kind of feel like skipping.  
  
Or smiling, even.  
  
I smile at my reflection in the mirror, tentatively. And immediately feel ridiculous doing it.  
  
No. Don't be foolish, Chloe. You know better than this.  
  
And besides, let's say for argument's sake that Lex Luthor does have feelings for you. What would you do? Squeal in delight?  
  
Aren't you the one who thinks he's evil?  
  
And, in case you haven't forgotten, you're still harboring major feelings for that farm boy in your life.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
LEX  
  
Clark Kent once saved me from a watery death, and in the instant that he breathed life into my lungs, I realized something else. Not only did he save my life, he saved me despite the fact that I could have easily killed him first before plunging into the murky depths of the water.  
  
It wasn't my fault, and Clark knows that. Unjustifiable as it may be, he hardly accuses me of anything.  
  
But the fact remains. If I were in Clark's position, I would be spending my life ensuring that the crazy motherfucker who dared try to kill me will spend the rest of his existence in total misery. I would also be too shaken in realizing that I was alive and well, to think about jumping in and saving his.  
  
It's integrity that Clark has and I will never achieve.  
  
How can I compete with that?  
  
* * * * * *  
  
CHLOE  
  
Clark Kent loves Lana Lang.  
  
Lana Lang.  
  
If Clark purposefully wanted to break my heart, then he couldn't have picked a better female contender than Lana Lang.  
  
I've loved Clark Kent since the beginning of time. The fact that I was the only girl in his life from pre-teen years was always a comfort to me, and even though he didn't share my feelings, it didn't matter, because I was with him. He was always next to me, asking for advice, helping me with Algebra, saving me from death-defying situations.  
  
When Lana Lang came, that stopped.  
  
Okay, not totally stopped. Clark is still there for me, I know. He's still my best friend, and I don't think he would do a thing to change that. Not on purpose anyway.  
  
But Lana Lang. Just imagine the pain you would feel when you find the love of your life finally loving another girl. And this girl isn't just any ordinary girl. She is the exact opposite of you.  
  
Pom-pom girl and reporter. Homecoming Queen and outsider. Brunette and blonde.  
  
And, to infuriate me further, she's so damn nice.  
  
And I can see why Clark Kent would fall in love with her.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
LEX  
  
Chloe will forever be jealous of Lana Lang.  
  
Despite the fact that I think of Chloe as a woman far superior to the likes of most, and that includes the garden variety Homecoming Queen.  
  
But Clark Kent loves Lana Lang.  
  
And Chloe loves Clark.  
  
And I love Chloe.  
  
Interesting little screwed up triangle right there.  
  
I'm in a situation where, for the first time in my life, I can't win.  
  
So what deigned me to admit to her, using a tiny sliver of a hint, that I had feelings for her?  
  
* * * * * *  
  
CHLOE  
  
But I know.  
  
I know that every time I come to The Beanery, every Friday night after paste-ups, I know that Clark Kent would be more otherwise engaged. When Lana Lang's in the vicinity of his mind or the area, Clark Kent is nowhere to be found.  
  
Yet I still come here.  
  
And more often than not, I leave The Beanery perfectly satisfied.  
  
And sometimes I forget that I was even there to see Clark.  
  
Why?  
  
Because of Lex Luthor.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
LEX  
  
Because I had a glimmer of hope.  
  
An irresistible feeling, self-destructive though it is, at its highest point enables the possessor to sprout wings and believe he can fly.  
  
Hope when she laughs at my words. Hope when she grins at me. Hope when she looks at me with intensity and uncertainty in her blue eyes.  
  
And the feeling that maybe its time that Chloe Sullivan wakes up and takes a long sip of the coffee in front of her.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
CHLOE  
  
Maybe it's a possibility.  
  
Maybe it's possible that I have feelings for him too.  
  
Maybe it's possible that I never realized it.  
  
Maybe it's time I learn.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
LEX  
  
There are other conquests to achieve on the path to Greatness.  
  
Things to learn. People to learn from.  
  
Is Chloe one of those people? God knows.  
  
But let her collect herself and think about it. Think about me.  
  
Meanwhile I'll be here, drinking my coffee, and waiting for her.  
  
Whatever the outcome may be. 


	6. Between Dolls, Trolls and GI Joes

My sincerest apologies if this one took a little longer, as I've been lacking inspiration lately.  
  
But again, thanks for the reviews :)  
  
DISCLAIMER: Smallville and all the other copyrighted products mentioned are not mine, just temporarily borrowed. etc.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
LEX  
  
There's something imminently mysterious about Clark Kent.  
  
It's not something you can pinpoint straight away. The first time you see him, all you'd notice is a huge guy with a thick mop of black hair almost down to his eyes. Just your average farm boy.  
  
But when you get to know him, it's a different thing. The boy's honesty is unfailing, if only because he has such an open face. At the same time there are things that he's so secretive about, something you can pick on by the way he carefully conceals his words, if you ask him the right questions.  
  
He's simple but complex. He won't be able to describe any emotion to you but you could always read it in the expression on his face. He always has a Clark Kent megawatt grin waiting for his friends and a hard glare for those he considers his enemies.  
  
I'm the most powerful man in Smallville and I tread carefully around Clark Kent.  
  
He has this amazing ability to hear a cry for help from ten miles away. Clark Kent saved my life before, but I'm just the first of many 'coincidences'. The boy is always there when you need him, without hesitation, in the speed of light.  
  
And unfortunately, sometimes he shows up when you don't need him.  
  
"Hey Lex," he greets, sitting in Chloe's empty chair. "Where did Chloe go?"  
  
It takes a moment for me to recover from the fact that it's a big guy with a mop of unruly black hair grinning at me, not Chloe. "To the bathroom," I reply in what I hope is an amiable tone. "Where's the lovely Lana Lang? Don't tell me the quarterback arrived."  
  
"She's sitting with some friends," he says, disappointment etched on his face.  
  
"Not joining her?"  
  
"No, I thought I'd join you guys instead," he smiles at me. "After all, we were supposed to drink together."  
  
"Yes and we understand totally if you'd rather join Lana, Clark."  
  
"I know," he replies easily. And stays put in his seat.  
  
I wait for a moment and he still sits there. The boy is staying.  
  
Another moment of Clark grinning at me and I resign myself to my fate. "So what's up, Clark?"  
  
"Not much. You holding up well against Chloe?"  
  
Better than you think. "I'm surviving."  
  
"You know if you're not careful, she could be hiding a tape recorder somewhere in her bag," he kids.  
  
"Chloe is at the liberty to do whatever she pleases. Even if it means exploiting me for the asshole that I am."  
  
"Then for your sake, I hope you didn't say anything too personal."  
  
"Besides telling her my favorite movie, nothing too personal."  
  
Clark raises his eyebrows and laughs. "Which is?"  
  
"Godfather."  
  
"Did Chloe mention hers?"  
  
"She said she loved Sixteen Candles."  
  
"It's Aliens," he confirms. "Sigourney Weaver. Woman in control."  
  
I feel mildly annoyed that Clark would know her favorite movie and I wouldn't.  
  
"Good choice." I smile thinly and lean back in my chair. "But that's Chloe. One of a kind, isn't she, Clark?"  
  
Clark looks at me peculiarly. "I guess you could say that." It looks like he's about to say something else when Chloe's voice interrupts us.  
  
"Clark Kent finally joining us mortal beings." Chloe says. "Takes my seat too."  
  
Clark grins back at her. She studiously avoids my gaze. Not a good sign.  
  
However, she does sit down on the empty space next to me, if only for the lack of other seats available. I discreetly sniff. Apples and strawberries with just a hint of glue. "And what were you boys talking about? Discussing the finer features of the latest Lana Lang doll?"  
  
"Why should we when the Chloe Sullivan doll has all the cool sarcastic gadgets?" Clark says, in the manner of an excited child.  
  
"Well gee, Clark, I wonder which doll you'd buy."  
  
"I'd keep both dolls by my side," Clark answers, smartly. Very smartly, might I add.  
  
For the first time since she joined Clark and myself, Chloe slants a look at me. "Well go on, Luthor. Be honest."  
  
"I would have to say that the Chloe doll would be the best investment. The verbal jargon will keep me company for a long time."  
  
Apparently satisfied by my answer, she smiles at me. "Smart boy."  
  
"But would the Chloe doll prefer the Clark doll to the Lex doll?" I ask.  
  
"The Lex doll might be too expensive," she remarks.  
  
"I'm always open for a discount."  
  
She laughs loud and appreciatively. I feel absurdly pleased to know that I caused it. "Now there's something you don't hear every day!"  
  
"Hey," Clark interjects, and points out a painful truth, "The Clark doll is strong and better looking."  
  
"Yes and the Clark doll also starts malfunctioning when in close proximity with the Lana doll," Chloe adds, wryly.  
  
"Hey, we all have our faults." Clark flashes the megawatt smile at both of us.  
  
I glance at Chloe to see how she takes the Clark Kent megawatt smile. If my memory serves me correctly, she'd be looking down and pretending the smile didn't have an effect on her.  
  
But this time she's looking at me.  
  
It's at this point in time that I feel strangely uplifted, a feeling not unlike the rush of a very expensive drug but without the hangover, and the desire for victory against all odds. How I feel when I'm about to close a business deal but… happier.  
  
Chloe's gaze stays intent on my face, inquisitive as always, but unlike the information hungry way that usually makes me feel like a child stripped of his clothing.  
  
It's almost as if her eyes are finally going easy on me. I find it hard to look away.  
  
"I think I'll make a better troll than a doll," I tell her.  
  
"Have your employees started making comparisons to make you think that?" Chloe asks, teasingly.  
  
"Ask your dad."  
  
"Well then rest your mind at ease, Luthor. He did mention something along the lines of mad bald tyrannous cow, but definitely no trolls."  
  
"A definite load off my back," I smile at her, a bit relieved that she has insulted me. It can only mean that things are normal.  
  
"You know I hate to point out the obvious," Clark says. "But trolls have hair."  
  
"So I'll be an original."  
  
"Then if you get to be a troll, I get to be GI Joe."  
  
Chloe rolls her eyes skyward. "You're heroic Clark, but you're not that heroic."  
  
"And what will be your preferred doll of choice?" I ask her.  
  
"Barbie," Clark answers for her.  
  
"I'm disproportionate. The Mattel conglomerates will have a heart attack." She pauses. "And seriously, I don't think I'd make a good doll. A box of Lego, maybe, but not dolls."  
  
"Because they're too quiet?" Clark asks with a grin. Chloe replies with a flip of her middle finger. "Bet you'd make a cute Raggedy Ann. Just find a red wig and a Raggedy Andy."  
  
"I think the operative word here is 'freaky'."  
  
I turn to her. "Did I ever tell you that I had red hair?"  
  
Her eyes look startled at my little confession, but she manages to flash me a grin. "My first candidate."  
  
We smile at each other. After a moment of this enjoyment, it's quickly punctured by the silence from the other member of our party. I tear myself away from the blueness of Chloe's eyes and turn his way. I find him observing the little interaction between Chloe and myself with an odd look about his face.  
  
Not for the first time, I wonder about telling Clark.  
  
An instinct tells me to hold it back, and if there's only one thing in the world that I trust, it's my instinct. It's simple mathematics. I don't like making my failures known to anyone, even in the matter of relationships, and so I wouldn't tell Clark unless I was secure in the knowledge that Chloe might reciprocate those feelings (or at least have reason to hope).  
  
Until tonight, I've always regarded Chloe as a no-win situation, which would complicate matters further if I told Clark. I can't be too sure of what will happen, but I do have an idea that either Chloe will run or Clark will tell her to run.  
  
Clark considers me his best friend, but I doubt he esteems me or anyone highly enough to find worthy of Chloe's affections. I wonder if he ever realizes that.  
  
The silence goes on forever and is reaching the point of extreme discomfort. Of course, Chloe speaks up. "What, Clark? Is there something green on my face?"  
  
The familiarity of Chloe's sarcastic tone seems to jolt Clark out of whatever conclusion he was making about us. I feel oddly relieved.  
  
"No," he says, still staring at us, then shakes his head. "If you were green, then forget Raggedy Ann and be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle."  
  
"Yeah and you could be my sidekick rat. Er.." Chloe frowns. "Dammit, what was his name?"  
  
Clark furrows his eyebrows and narrows his eyes in what I can only describe as the Clark Kent intense concentration position. Sometimes you can catch him doing this at the oddest times. I once found him staring at a wall like that, as if trying to determine what was behind it.  
  
Complex.  
  
I decide to relieve them of their misery. "Splinter." They gape at me. "What?"  
  
"I never thought of you as a turtle fan," Clark grins and I shrug.  
  
"Pretty impressive," Chloe says.  
  
"Why is that impressive?"  
  
"It adds to the evidence I've been collecting to figure out, once and for all, if you're human or demon spawn."  
  
"Conclusion?" I ask, with a smile.  
  
"We're getting there," she replies saucily, with a sly grin at me.  
  
Just at this moment, Clark looks at us strangely again.  
  
Feeling somewhat like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, I look away from Chloe and lightly tap my fingers on the couch. The movement doesn't alter the rigid atmosphere. Clark is still looking at us strangely.  
  
Always the perceptive one, even if it's post-Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles trivia, he asks, "What's up with you guys?"  
  
I glance at Chloe who is studying her fingernails. Then as if she just noticed, she looks up and says, "Huh? Sorry what was that?"  
  
Obviously left to my own defenses, I look at him dead in the eye. "What are you talking about, Clark?" It's a Luthor talent, the ability to lie through your teeth without having a twinge of guilt shown on your face.  
  
Clark continues regarding me suspiciously.  
  
Despite the Luthor stare, I feel plagued with guilt (although I have no idea why) and I feel his suspicious eyes on me like they're burning holes to the back of my head.  
  
In just about a second before I cave in, Chloe clears her throat.  
  
Then suddenly, "Oh look, Lana's calling you!" 


	7. Chloe's Conclusions

CHLOE  
  
Seeing Clark sitting with Lex Luthor was a bit of a shock.  
  
A shock. Usually it's a pleasant thing, or at least a normal thing.  
  
But I walked out of the bathroom with a purpose. A chick on a mission. I was to learn more about Lex Luthor and to find out once and for all if he really did have feelings for me (I hadn't really formulated a plan yet, but I had an idea that more innuendoes had to be thrown around).  
  
And what do I find? Sitting on my seat, most unwelcome, was Clark Kent. Doing what he was supposed to do when he first came here: having coffee with Lex Luthor. Something I was actually depending on.  
  
And I found myself sending frantic mental signals to Lana Lang to bat her eyelashes at Clark and warp him back to her side.  
  
As it was, there was no discomfort from any side, although I found myself avoiding Luthor's gaze for a moment. After a while though, the age-old banter came to save the day, and I was able to look at Luthor with convincing calm, and indulge in good old-fashioned flirting.  
  
Thank God and all his little cherubs for that.  
  
But of course, farm boy or no farm boy, the meaningful looks exchanged between Lex Luthor and myself was just a bit too weird for Clark to miss. Especially since he's our mutual best friend, and knows us (well, me) better than anyone else.  
  
The second time he noticed, he didn't seem to take it lightly, and I can still picture Clark's eyes on us, demanding an answer, while Lex and I looked like children who got caught playing in the mud. It was an intense moment, one I couldn't decipher. Why would Clark make such a big deal out of it?  
  
Miraculously enough my mental frantic signals worked (granted some time later). Lana Lang stood up and called Clark's name.  
  
I never thought I'd say this, but oh thank you God for Lana Lang.  
  
All the same, the moment was gone. If ever there was a moment in the first place. It was gone as soon as Clark verbally acknowledged it. His voice broke the spell that bound me to Lex Luthor's eyes for this evening, and I wonder if I should be thankful for that.  
  
So, obviously, Lex might have been feeling something somewhere along those lines, because as soon as Clark got up to jump to Lana Lang's rescue, Lex excused himself. Said he was damn tired and needed to get some sleep.  
  
At that point, Lana joined us for a while. The Real Lex Luthor came back and left the Ninja Turtle trivia Lex Luthor to shreds (which is a pity, because I liked him a lot) and was back to being charming with everyone in his good-byes, even to a bunch of teenagers like us.  
  
He did pause when he came to me, looking down at me silently for a while, before saying, "I hope you intend to continue your assessment of me next Friday."  
  
I wasn't quite sure what to say to that. My teenaged mind couldn't quite deal with the gallantry of the handsome (albeit demonic) man standing before me, and all I could do was nod mechanically.  
  
Half an hour later I'm on my way home. Clark left with Lana at the same time, and the same as my arrival, no one noticed my departure.  
  
I wonder if Lex Luthor would have. I noticed his departure. In fact, my eyes followed him sauntering out of The Beanery and into his car, and finally until he was out of my sight, never looking back once.  
  
And now I find myself trying to come up with a conclusion to the thoughts I had of him in the bathroom of The Beanery, previously this evening.  
  
Innuendoes were thrown about, caught and answered to my satisfaction, and except for that shot of fate that had Clark sitting with us I think I did come up with something solid.  
  
Surely he was flirting with me. I can't be blind enough to not have noticed that.  
  
Obviously, I can't conclude if he has feelings for me. Lex Luthor might be in the habit to flirt with all things female, granted he's never done so to me before this night.  
  
Of course, I've never particularly thought of Lex Luthor as the flirty type. Charming sure, but not flirty.  
  
But he was flirting with me. I squirm in my seat as my normal neurotic and pessimistic self comes flying back at me to slap me in the face. Wasn't he?  
  
Or am I reading too much into this?  
  
With this conclusion came others equally horrifying. Maybe he wasn' t flirting with me. Maybe I was throwing myself at him, that's why it looked like he was flirting with me. He was actually just being polite.  
  
Maybe he was taking pity on a small town girl by giving her the time of day.  
  
A lovesick small town girl, because I'm pretty sure he guesses my feelings for Clark.  
  
Dammit.  
  
I swing my car into the driveway of my house and calm down. The house is quiet and still, Dad must have gone straight to bed.  
  
I go through the motions of locking the car, getting into the house, locking the front door, and climbing up the stairs to my room. And inside the familiarity of my room where, before tonight, I spent most times fantasizing about Clark Kent and not Lex Luthor, I come to a more satisfactory conclusion.  
  
Who cares anyway? Maybe he was flirting, maybe not. I had fun tonight. That's all that matters.  
  
I'm able to convince myself of this through clothes changing and face washing but am struck again mid-teeth brushing. My inability to stop thinking of Lex Luthor gives me a sneaking suspicion that maybe there's a bit more to it than that.  
  
Right. Let's face it, Chloe Sullivan. Right here and right now, in the confines and privacy of my bathroom where there's absolutely no risk of anyone listening in.  
  
I was hoping he would have feelings for me.  
  
Why? Because I have feelings for him.  
  
It's minute, but there, and throbbing. It's solid enough for me to grab and evaluate thoroughly.  
  
It's a feeling I never had any hope for, but it's there.  
  
I am attracted to Lex Luthor.  
  
My stomach churns unpleasantly at the thought. And it churns not for the fact itself, but for another major reason.  
  
It's a nightmare of an attraction, unless you looked like Victoria Hardwick, and the mirror in front of me plainly speaks that I don't.  
  
And no matter what Lex Luthor said to me tonight, the villain doesn't flirt with the nerd. In fact, the villain doesn't associate with the nerd. The villain would not think twice about the nerd.  
  
And how do I play on this attraction? I flirted with him.  
  
Oh my GOD, am I MAD?  
  
And with this final conclusion, I squish that hope and all further thoughts of hope, and it was done. Done while I rinsed my mouth, done while I walked into my room and done while I climbed into bed.  
  
Yet his face still swims in front of my eyes, threatening a night of no sleep.  
  
Annoyed, I lean over to my bedside lamp to call for darkness, make my eyes close and shut out Lex Luthor forever, or at least for tonight.  
  
When the unmistakable sound of a car pulling into my driveway stops me. 


	8. Reality in the Dead of the Night

Thanks for the reviews (again) :)  
  
By the way, I read your story AnJL, and if you really think our stories really are (evil) twins, then I'm really flattered.  
  
DISCLAIMER: All characters mentioned are from Smallville, not mine, not ever, etc.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
LEX  
  
In the silence of Chloe's neighborhood and the darkness in my car, my voice rings out with a sharp note of an ironic tone.  
  
Sitting here in my car, at the last place I expected myself to be in the middle of the night on a Friday: parked at Chloe Sullivan's driveway. And to make things worse, I've started talking to myself.  
  
"I, Alexander Joseph Luthor, millionaire, criminal in some states, entrepreneur, businessman, Satan to some and asshole to most, have resorted to yet another low in my worthless life. I have resorted to stalking blonde teenagers in a very nondescript Ferrari, in the middle of the night. What would my father think of me now?"  
  
My own words silence me and I contemplate them.  
  
I know what my father would think. He would give me that condescending tone of voice and say, "You're a sap, Lex. You've always been a sap. A weak one, at that."  
  
I feel a tiny spurt of anger and calm it down.  
  
Never ever forget, Lex Luthor. Anger is a weakness.  
  
Talking is a weakness.  
  
Any channel of communication that can exhibit your emotions is a weakness. With talking: a heightened tone of voice, an intake of breath, a waver, all constructs a disadvantage to yourself in front of the person in front of you. In Luthor land, I choose to speak only when necessary. My father chooses to criticize every person in front of him, especially me. Why? Because he has more to hide from me. I can see his weakness better than anyone.  
  
As for anger, it's a loss of control. And I never lose control. In any situation. Not if I can help it.  
  
However, parked here on an impulse, I'm caught at a major disadvantage, which suggests that I could be my very own worst enemy.  
  
If Chloe is awake and comes down to see me, I would already have all my handicaps laid out on a silver platter for her to see without having to utter a single word. Ordinarily, I will sit in The Beanery under the pretext of having coffee with Clark and wait patiently for her to arrive. This time, I came here with no good excuse, if she were to ask for one, except for the insatiable urge to see her face. The ball is in her court.  
  
If I were under any control over myself, I would be lying asleep. Not in suburban hell, my plant manager's house, wondering if his teenaged daughter is awake.  
  
To top it all off, talking to one's self? "I'm going out of my mind."  
  
At the thought of Gabe Sullivan, another weakness comes to me. Paranoia. Anyone could walk by this house right now, see a black Ferrari in the driveway with an unmistakable 'LEX' license plate, and know Lex Luthor paid the Sullivans a visit in the dark hours of the morning. And they will wonder what I'm doing here. And of course, knowing that I wouldn't be visiting my plant manager at this time of night, they would make another guess.  
  
What the hell am I doing here?  
  
I remember having a firm grip on my sanity when I left the coffee shop, Chloe's muted and not very hopeful nod answering my good night, harsh on my mind. When I drove home and did not feel tired. When I checked my e-mail and played one game of pool. When I sat down in front of my desk and thought only of Chloe and what I might be letting slip between my fingers.  
  
There was something there. I know there was. It might not have been love singing on a mountaintop but it was an opportunity for something to grow. It was right there in my face, practically screaming at me, and then just as quickly as it came, it left.  
  
And instead of having a normal Chloe in my hands insulting me, I had a comatose Chloe who couldn't quite look at me.  
  
Why? Was it because of Clark? Was it because he noticed?  
  
I remember losing my grip on my sanity while I sat behind my desk, and Winston Churchill came to me in an attempt to defy my friendship with Clark, and take a stab at a relationship with someone else.  
  
Victory at all costs, victory in spite of terror.  
  
And sanity fled. I got up and went back to my car like a Luthor on a mission. I drove. Without thinking about it, I ended up in Chloe's driveway, staring at a dark house, with just one lit window staring at me like a grotesque one-eyed reality, slapping me hard across the face.  
  
Too late, my sanity came back.  
  
Yet, what am I still doing here?  
  
At the lit window, a blonde head peeks out from the curtains and squints at the foreign black car on her driveway. My heart stops beating for a quick second, whether it's because of Chloe or painful regret at coming here, I don't know. But that blonde head is Chloe's. And she's awake.  
  
A little breathless at the thought, I stick my hand out in a small wave and question if she can even see me.  
  
She disappears back behind the curtain and emerges a moment later at the front door in sweat bottoms and a thick coat and messy hair.  
  
I wonder if she realizes that she has appeal down to an art.  
  
She pads toward me in house slippers. I roll down my windows when she reaches my side.  
  
She stands, arms folded, staring at me as if she's not quite sure if I'm real. "Should I ask?" she says.  
  
"By all means."  
  
"Is there an emergency at the plant my father needs to know about?"  
  
"Not at all," I assure her.  
  
She purses her lips together and nods. "I hate to point out the obvious, Luthor, but it's late. There are sleeping souls in this neighborhood. You know, sleep? Maybe a term demonic men like you aren't familiar with but…."  
  
"You're awake," I point out. "Which is all I need, seeing as I came to see you. If you weren't awake, then rest assured Chloe, I would have left the souls asleep. Quietly."  
  
"You came to see me," she echoes. I nod. "Why?"  
  
I fight for an answer and unfortunately cannot come up with one quickly enough.  
  
"Do you know I get unbelievably unfriendly in the middle of the night?" she says, impatiently.  
  
I glance at her, and she looks me dead in the eye, waiting for an answer, arms still folded, and foot tapping. I doubt that pleading insanity at this point would be wise.  
  
Lie, Lex, lie.  
  
"I was driving around." She cocks an eyebrow at me. "I happened to be in the area and wondered if you were awake."  
  
She continues staring at me suspiciously.  
  
"That's the honest to God truth." When her suspicious stance does not alter, I shrug and lean forward to start my engine. "But since you're making it painfully clear that my company is unwelcome tonight, I can just go. But thanks for your time, and sorry if I bothered you."  
  
Just as I shift into reverse, she lets out a loud sigh and says in frustration, "Wait, Luthor."  
  
I glance at her. Her shoulders visibly relax, and her suspicious gaze has switched to a vaguely annoyed look.  
  
I look at her expectantly.  
  
"Just switch off your damn engine and let's sit on the porch," she says, somewhat grumpily. Then adds, "And I'll have you know that playing on my guilt will only be entertained once tonight." With that, she walks in the direction of the porch. I stare after her for a moment, until she turns around at me and waves me over impatiently.  
  
Not the warmest of invitations, but in the dead of night with my weaknesses playing in my head, I will take what I can get.  
  
Obligingly, I switch off the engine and slowly get out of the car. I take a deep breath and look at where Chloe waits for me, on a swing that Smallville seems so fond of purchasing and hanging on their front porch.  
  
I hope for the best and start walking to her.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
CHLOE  
  
You might imagine the panic I felt when I saw the Big Black Sports Car.  
  
I didn't need a license plate (just for the record, it was 'LEX', screaming out a God complex for all the world to see) and I didn't need to see the driver. Who else in Smallville would be driving a car like that?  
  
I saw his car in my driveway, in the middle of the night, and almost had a nervous breakdown.  
  
Unable to scream, I resorted to whispering hoarsely. "OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod."  
  
What the hell was he doing here?  
  
I remember thinking dimly that my sweatpants had a hole somewhere mid-thigh and that my hair was a mess and that my face had no make-up on which is enough to send anyone driving away. Then I went down the staircase quickly but quietly ("OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod"), opened the front door and saw the LEX which confirmed this dream to be reality ("OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod"), found my house slippers and a thick coat ("OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod") and walked over to him, the picture of calm.  
  
I asked him what he was doing here, and what did he say? He was driving around and wondered if I was awake.  
  
Please tell me, anybody, what Lex Luthor would be doing driving around in my neighborhood in the first place?  
  
But of course, for all my big talk, I was inwardly ecstatic.  
  
Make your conclusions Chloe, reach indecisive hell, and have the subject himself delivered over for a confirmation.  
  
But of course, in Chloe's world, when you're nervous, get defensive. I managed to sound bitchier than I usually do in Lex Luthor's presence, to the point of driving him away.  
  
And despite the fact that he used such a low trick as to guilt trip me into letting him stay, I figured, to hell with my defense mechanism. And asked him to sit with me on the porch.  
  
And now, here we are. Alone, totally alone, for the first time ever. Swinging a bit.  
  
In silence.  
  
God. Even in the middle of the night he wants me to start the conversation.  
  
I glance at him, to convince myself that he's really there. At this moment I still believe that I have somehow or other managed to get into a different plane of existence where Lex Luthor would actually visit me in the dead of the night. It seems closer to the real thing than the real thing itself.  
  
The whole area is dark except for the moonlight shining down on us, and I see the light trace an outline of his face and it gives him an unearthly glow, from his lips to the tip of his nose to the perfect skin on his scalp.  
  
I'm struck with wonderment at how… beautiful he is.  
  
"In all my wildest dreams I never thought I'd live to see the day where Lex Luthor would be sitting on this porch swing," I comment.  
  
"So you've had other wild dreams of me?" Try as I may, I can't stop the blood flushing to my cheeks, so I'm guessing that I'm looking like a blonde beetroot at this precise moment.  
  
It's bad enough that he has to see me at my worst: face scrubbed clean of make-up and my favorite sweat pants baggy around my legs, showing no discerning female shape whatsoever. I was tempted to change clothes when I first realized he was here, but there's something very wrong about me going through all that trouble for a guy. Even for the enigma that is Lex Luthor.  
  
What makes it worse is that it's the dead of the night and my sarcastic sensors are not functioning as properly as they do after a good night's worth of sleep.  
  
"Maybe in your dreams," I retort. He smirks and makes no comment. "So is this your purpose of coming here? To infuriate me further?"  
  
"No," he replies, slowly and deliberately. "As much as you disbelieve it, Chloe, this is not a totally selfish act on my part. I didn't come here to pump information out of you or to infuriate you for my own personal entertainment."  
  
"Then why are you here?"  
  
"Because…" he trails off, and I think it's the first time I've ever seen Lex Luthor without a smooth answer. I feel half-inclined to run up and get my digital camera to take a picture of the moment. He finally says, "Because I wanted to see you."  
  
My heart stops, or at least I think it has.  
  
But I wouldn't be a reporter if I didn't dig for the details. Unimportant things like hearts stopping would not stop me from doing that. "Why?"  
  
He turns his head to look at me and it's that intense silence all over again. Except this time we don't have to turn away and see Clark looking at us strangely.  
  
Then, like an action replayed in exceedingly slow motion, I see his hand reach out and tuck some stray wisps of my hair behind my ear. I suck in a breath at the feel of the tips of his fingers making contact with my cheek then as if my reaction was the nod he needed from me, his fingers hold my jaw and his thumb lightly rubs my cheekbone.  
  
I let out a ragged breath and immediately feel embarrassed for it. It's multiplied when I see the seriousness of his gaze. This is surreal.  
  
"This is surreal," I announce, hoping the sound of my voice would bring me back down to reality. He doesn't say anything but his thumb moves lightly over my lips. Another ragged breath escapes my lips, but I think this one is more likely a sign of an incoming anxiety attack. I plunder into my mind and look for sanity. When I find it, I grasp it with two hands and hope to never let go.  
  
"Maybe a bit too surreal for the dead of the night," I say gently and move my face away from his hand.  
  
His hand stays in mid-air for a minute, before resting back to his side. He sighs loudly and leans forward, hands clasped loosely together on his knees.  
  
I'm wondering if I should say something when he speaks up, "Maybe you want a bit more of an explanation."  
  
"That would be useful," I agree.  
  
From this view, I can only see the back of his head, gleaming in the moonlight, one particular bump protruding at the bottom of his scalp. I fight the urge to lean over and stroke his head, and tell him to do that thing with my face again.  
  
"Chloe," he starts, and pauses. "I have…" I see him fighting for the words. The suspense is killing me, right now. This goes on for a few seconds, before he mercifully ends my frustration by saying simply, "I like you."  
  
Crickets echo this confession.  
  
Likes me? What does he mean, like me? As a friend? As a man attracted to girl? Does he not realize that I am highly inexperienced in these things? What? What?  
  
"I like you too, Luthor," I reply, unsure.  
  
Another pause ensues this as I watch his head tilt in my direction. Then, "No, Chloe. That's not what I mean. I mean I LIKE you."  
  
And yes, here we are on my porch, the enigmatic Lex Luthor and the neurotic Chloe Sullivan, speaking to each other in layman's terms.  
  
"You like me," I echo dumbly.  
  
"I like you," he confirms, and laughs bitterly. "This is going worse than I feared."  
  
For a minute there I wonder what the 'worst' was, because I could certainly picture a worse scenario than my being struck dumb at his words. But then I get lost in the bewilderment of the whole thing. He likes me. Lex Luthor likes me. And I didn't need to make a conclusion for this because he just said it for me! HE LIKES ME.  
  
I feel like skipping and running all at once. Skipping because I feel overjoyed and running because I'm not quite sure how to handle this.  
  
Or more likely, running because Reality is taking me gently by the hand and sitting me on her lap and telling me that I am only sixteen, exceedingly inexperienced, and do not have the mental capacity to handle the feelings of a man as experienced and complex as this.  
  
"Well," I say tentatively, annoyed at Reality. He leans back and faces me, which seems to make it harder for me to get the words out of my mouth. "Well," I repeat. "The worst would have been clubbing you over the head and ordering you off my porch."  
  
He smiles at this. "I have to admit that thought crossed my mind."  
  
"Lex Luthor came all the way over here on a chance?"  
  
"I lost my sanity on the way over here," he explains. "Then there was Winston Churchill."  
  
"Ah. What did he say?"  
  
"Victory at all costs, victory in spite of terror."  
  
"Smart man, that Winston." I find myself smiling at the thought of Lex Luthor pepping himself up before coming here. It sounds unbelievably sweet in my ears. It's even sweeter than his confession to liking me.  
  
Reality threatens to submerge and I subconsciously shove it back down.  
  
His gaze stays locked on my face and its rapture keeps my eyes fixed on his. He looks at me so plainly, without a trace of the Lex Luthor smirk or the Lex Luthor emotional wall covering and it seems so naked before me, that I feel absurdly flattered beyond all things imaginable.  
  
Ever persistent, Reality screams at me. THIS WILL NEVER WORK.  
  
And this time, backed with Rational Chloe, I have to concede defeat. It'll never work.  
  
Lex Luthor and Chloe Sullivan? Was God just thinking of a good joke?  
  
"Lex," I start and squirm. I am so not good at this. I'm bad at rejecting people. I'm bad at anything I lack experience in.  
  
His voice interrupts me, soft with all traces of sarcasm gone. "You called me Lex."  
  
I stop and, feeling a hard resolve in me melting into mush, smile at him. "Yes, I did."  
  
He smiles back at me.  
  
Then slowly, he takes my face in his hands again, and leans forward. The moment is quick, but my anticipation of this moment leaves my heart racing at the realization that it's about to happen. The most unlikeliest thing of all things unlikely: Lex Luthor kissing me.  
  
Screw Reality and Rationality. Give me my moment of happiness.  
  
When his lips reach mine, I'm still thinking of the unlikelihood of Lex Luthor kissing me on my porch in the dead of the night for my mouth to function properly. I respond to him, tentatively, marveling at the feel of his mouth against mine, warm and soft.  
  
His arm circle around my back while one hand bunches up in my hair, and I slip my arms around his shoulders. They're broad and I feel the tension of his muscles underneath the cotton (or whatever expensive material) of his jacket.  
  
When he deepens our kiss, all thoughts fly out of the window.  
  
And I remain, in Lex Luthor's arms, kissing him like it's the most natural thing in the world to do, on the front porch of my house in the dead of the night, in my most comfortable sleeping clothes and feel absolute contentment.  
  
And while we're at it, defy the world theories, by getting the villain together with the nerd.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
NOTE: I'm not totally done yet. Just have a few more chapters to tie the whole thing up. Still finding it hard to believe it's almost done! :) 


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